


Three

by Ginny_Potter



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Happy Grindeldore, M/M, Smut, Summer 1899, not really spoilery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginny_Potter/pseuds/Ginny_Potter
Summary: They were walking by a narrow drain that helped irrigate the fields when Albus felt the first drop hit his cheek. His fingers closed around his wand but before he managed to lift it to evoke a magical umbrella, a thunderstorm broke down on them. A lightning bolt ripped up the horizon and immediately the rain started pouring from the sky like a waterfall. They were drenched in a matter of seconds.Gellert swore in German and grabbed his arm, dragging him beyond the drain and directly among the spikes.“What are you doing?” yelled Albus, tumbling on the ground that had already started becoming muddy and slippery.“There is a barn there.” He answered, without slackening the hold on his arm, “Come.”





	Three

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> This fic was supposed to be really spoilery and... well... since there is the barn involved, who watched the movie knows what I'm talking about. Basically it just ended up in... smut? I don't really know how it happened.  
> It's not introspective like my other Grindeldore fics and it's longer and more elaborate.  
> English is not my first language so please, feel free to point out mistakes. I read it several times but yeah. You know.  
> Enjoy some kinda fluffy smut!

They didn’t often linger that much during their afternoon strolls. They usually came back to Godric’s Hollow after the church bell had stricken three o’clock. That was the moment in which Ariana woke up from her afternoon nap every single day, when her big blue eyes snapped open like those of a porcelain doll. Then, Albus _had_ to be home or Aberforth would have tormented him with recriminations until dinnertime. So those three hours were the only time in which Albus could be free. He and Gellert usually walked together. They met at the cemetery, close enough to their respective houses to be bearable – oh, they were so impatient those days – and at the same time far enough that nobody could spy on them from their windows.

Obviously, Aberforth knew where Albus went those lazy afternoons, he knew that he wasn’t alone, after the first three days his brother even stopped making excuses. And it wasn’t like for the rest of the day he didn’t have Bathilda’s nephew around anyway. He just tried – and often failed – to be around a bit more, so to glance quickly at Ariana with those inscrutable eyes of his, once in a while.

That day, though, things went differently. They had met right after midday – the Dumbledore siblings ate early, quickly, Albus often brought the food to his room – and when Albus had closed the creaky, rusty gate behind him, Gellert was already there, looking at the same old gravestone as it could reveal him the secrets of the universe. It could, in a certain way.

“Do you even eat?” Albus had asked, smiling, and Gellert had turned towards him, a peaceful expression on his face: “I live of knowledge and scheming, you should know by now.”

They had walked, after that, taking the path that went deep into the countryside. Albus did not particularly like it, he preferred the one that ran along the woods: it was more secluded, and, at some point, a lazy spring formed a clear pond, surrounded by rushes and vegetation. The countryside path was Aberforth’s. It was the one that his brother took every morning to go feed the goats. Sometimes he brought Ariana with him, he said the animals calmed her. He associated the countryside with his siblings, so every time he and Gellert took that path a rush of mixed emotions chained his mind: guilt, irritation, intolerance. He didn’t want to think about them. Not in those three hours. Those three hours, the hottest of the day, the ones the Greeks believed the most magical, the most intense, the most mysterious… those were his hours. His and Gellert’s. In those three hours they talked, they discussed, they fought even. They were permeated with the excitement of their plans for the future. Only then Albus allowed himself to believe that greatness could actually be an option for him, that his immense potential was going to be put to use.

That day, they went beyond.

“Where are we?” asked Gellert at some point, cutting in half a sentence on how to deal with the Elder Wand allegiance.

Albus blinked, as he became aware of his surroundings. Talking with Gellert always had that effect on him, he became so enthralled, so captivated that he lost contact with the world: “I honestly have no idea.”

Gellert gave him an unimpressed look: “You are so British, Albus.”

They were crossing an oat field, everything was very still, the only noise was produced by the wind caressing the spikes. Albus looked around: he couldn’t see Godric’s Hollow, he couldn’t see anything except extensive cultivations of oat.

“Well, I guess that with a Four-Points Spell we could– ” he didn’t even finish the sentence. Gellert’s twisty wand had slipped from his fingers, pointing north.

Albus smiled, lowering his gaze. It was unfair how in sync they were.

“The path we originally took moved towards east.” Said Gellert, examining the surroundings, as his wand floated mid-air “Then we sort of cut through the fields,” he was frowning and Albus couldn’t take his eyes away from the slight furrow of his forehead. His brows formed a weird line when he had that expression, it was like an obliquus line, strangely elegant, like everything else in Gellert. Even the plainest robe looked regal if he wore it.

“Are you listening to me, Albus?”

Albus blinked; again, his mind had travelled away from the main topic.

“Yes, I apologise, I was trying to remember the path.” He lied.

Gellert smirked. He knew he was not telling the truth. He always knew everything.

“We should go back, it will take some time to find the way home and your dear brother won’t be happy if you are late.” He said instead, retracing his steps easily.

They walked in silence for several minutes, Gellert stopping every once in a while to lead them in a different direction. The fields looked infinite, Albus had no idea that the country around Godric’s Hollow was so intensely cultivated. The landscape was a blooming of gold wheat, with seldom touches of dark brown: there were barns and small shacks and ploughs without livestock attached. They had been so absorbed in their conversation that he didn’t even notice. It had always been like that, since the first moment he and Gellert met: the rest of the world disappeared when they were together, when they talked, when they planned, when they even simply studied and researched in the same room. Albus had never felt like that before. It had not only been the meeting of two of the most brilliant young wizards around, it had been, and kept being, a communion of souls.

They were walking by a narrow drain that helped irrigate the fields when Albus felt the first drop hit his cheek. His fingers closed around his wand but before he managed to lift it to evoke a magical umbrella, a thunderstorm broke down on them. A lightning bolt ripped up the horizon and immediately the rain started pouring from the sky like a waterfall. They were drenched in a matter of seconds.

Gellert swore in German and grabbed his arm, dragging him beyond the drain and directly among the spikes.

“What are you doing?” yelled Albus, tumbling on the ground that had already started becoming muddy and slippery.

“There is a barn there.” He answered, without slackening the hold on his arm, “Come.”

They stumbled, bending spikes and probably ruining some Muggle’s harvest. The barn Gellert was talking about was not far, Albus could vaguely distinguish its shape. He pulled away some locks that had fallen in front of his eyes, sticking to his forehead and cheeks. When they managed to find the entrance to the barn, Gellert roared an “Alohomora” that almost pulled the sad excuse of a door out of its hinges. They hurried inside and Albus pushed back the heavy board, leaning against it to catch a breath. Gellert was some steps ahead, hands on his knees, his wand trapped between his fingers and the soaked leather of his trousers.

Albus chuckled. Gellert turned around: his blond curls were all over his face, he sported a very affronted expression. The chuckle became a breathless laugh. If Gellert’s eyes had had the power to kill he would have lain on the floor in that moment.

“You dare laughing at me? Albus, I swear–”

He raised his hands in surrender, but couldn’t stop laughing: “How is this my fault?”

“Stupid British weather and stupid British people…” muttered Gellert, examining his drenched figure.

“It’s Britons.” Said Albus, really fighting to maintain a straight face.

Gellert gifted him with a look halfway between exasperated and puzzled.

“It’s Britons, not British people.”

“I am really, really struggling to prevent myself from hexing you, Dumbledore.”

Albus lost all composure and started laughing again.

Gellert rolled his eyes and stepped forward inside the barn, distancing himself from Albus: “Just tell me when you are finished”.

The rain kept pouring outside, Albus could hear its rhythmic noise while it crashed over the wooden roof of the barn. Slowly, he calmed down. The barn was one of the biggest they had encountered that day, it was mostly wood, except for the base itself, built in uneven blocks of stone. Sporadic heaps of wheat were abandoned in the corners, probably remains of the year before. This particular Muggle must have not started the harvesting yet: the fields were still luxuriant, and the barn was almost empty. A plough with a broken wheel was forgotten in a corner, a bunch of baskets were piled beside it. There were also stacks of jute sacks all around, ready to be filled with the fruits of the imminent reaping. In the middle of the huge space, Gellert stood with a hand on his neck, slowly massaging the numb muscles. His blond hair was darker, sopping wet. He was completely dressed in black, from head to toe: the dark fabric clung to his waist, his legs were enveloped in charcoal leather, his shiny boots were spattered with dirt. Albus felt his breath getting trapped in his throat. Without even realising, he moved closer. Gellert wasn’t facing towards him. Albus raised a hand, grasping a wavy lock between his thumb and his index finger and moving it behind his ear. He took a breath.

Gellert turned and closed his hand around Albus’. His skin was cold and damp and his fingertips gently caressed Albus’ knuckles as he lowered his arm. A second after, Gellert’s lips were pressing against his. He closed his eyes immediately, drowning in the sensation. Gellert’s mouth was soft against his, moving confidently. His right hand, the one that wasn’t trapping Albus’ between their chests, the one that was still holding his wand, grabbed his auburn hair and Albus groaned, taken by surprise. Gellert took advantage of it, pushing his tongue against his teeth, deepening the kiss. Albus reacted, pushing back against him, stars behind his eyes – Gellert was pulling at his hair, passionately. Albus bit his lower lip in retaliation and Gellert broke the kiss, stepping aside. He was panting.

“You are violent.” Muttered Albus, annoyed, rubbing his sore head, but his blue eyes were shining.

“Me?” Gellert raised his eyebrows, touching his swollen lower lip with a fingertip.

Albus wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to kiss every inch of his body. So he did.

It had been three weeks since they met the first time, three days after, they were already inseparable, other three days and they had kissed, voraciously, avidly, Albus’ shoulders pressed in the grass, his copy the Tales of Beedle the Bard a light burden against his chest, held between them by Gellert’s wide palm. Not even a fortnight and they had shared everything else.

It had been three days since the last time they had been free to do this, to lose themselves in such a complete way, to ignore the rest of the world. The day before they had been occupied with research in Bathilda’s equipped library, they had been so preoccupied with what they were finding out that, before knowing it, it was time for Albus to go back home. On Tuesday, Albus’ editor in London had visited: they wanted him to write a column for ‘Transfiguration Today’ and he had had to discuss the terms of it all day long. Gellert had not answered when Albus had sent him an owl telling him they couldn’t meet that day. After, he just dismissed the thing saying that that before he even started writing for the journal, they would already be in Europe. On Monday, Ariana had an episode. Gellert was there. He helped without asking questions. After that, he just left, followed by Aberforth disdainful words. Three whole days before this. Albus had not even realised how much he missed it.

They kissed again as the wind and the rain made the barn creak, Gellert’s back pressed against a pile of logs. Albus took his time: he wanted to savour it, to remember the taste, to learn from Gellert’s shallow breaths, from his shaky moans. He let himself linger in the kiss, nibbling gently at his lip, exploring his mouth. He could feel Gellert’s body relax against his, their hands loosely interlocked, pressed at their sides. How did he forget how good it was? How could he have spent three days not doing this?

“Stop thinking.”

Albus opened his eyes in confusion, looking for Gellert’s.

“You are so loud.” He insisted.

“I’m not… you cannot– you are not a Legilimens.” He objected. He was not able to formulate more articulated sentences in that moment.

“I cannot.” He agreed “And I can say you are thinking _so_ loudly anyway, I can _feel_ it.” He nuzzled his neck “Stop.”

“You like to order me around too much, Grindelwald.” Said Albus, but he was smiling, bending his neck so to give him more access.

Gellert chuckled and started slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat. His lips danced against Albus’ collarbone: “Likewise.”

Albus shuddered and began slowly imitating Gellert’s gestures. They started undressing each other slowly, taking their time or better, not thinking about the time that was passing relentlessly. _It is still raining_ , thought Albus. _We couldn’t go outside anyway_. He was lying of course. Lying to himself. They could have dried up right after entering the barn, they could have evoked an umbrella or even transfigured something into it, if they were afraid of meeting Muggles. They could have even Apparated. Gellert wasn’t able to, he had been expelled from Durmstrang before that stage and had been very evasive when Albus had volunteered to teach him. But that wasn’t the point, Albus could, they could have used Side-Along Apparition and they could have Apparated in one of their living rooms easily. But he didn’t want to. He did want this. _Right here. Right now._ He didn’t care about Aberforth and his monologues, he didn’t care about his responsibilities, he didn’t deserve to be burdened with them in the first place. The only thing that he wanted was that connection, right there, right in that precise moment.

“You are still thinking too much. I definitely have to do something more effective.” Said Gellert matter-of-factly, jerking at the hems of his waistcoat. A couple of buttons gave in and Gellert took the garment off his shoulders before he could protest. Their lips were again interlocked. They kissed fiercely, fighting with their clothing, trying to free themselves and not interrupting the kiss at the same time. It was an impossible task. Albus lost his wand at some point, it was tucked in his trousers, but his trousers were half taken off and he was jumping on a foot, trying to disentangle himself. Gellert was laughing, his head half stuck in his drenched shirt, his mismatched eyes shining with mischief and something more intense. _Desire_. They wanted each other so much.

When they finally freed themselves from their clothing, they met halfway, kissing with intent, hands all over each other’s bodies. They fell at some point. Albus could not say if he tripped or Gellert slipped but they collapsed, laughing and groaning for the brusque impact. They kissed again, more slowly, it seemed like it would be impossible to stop pressing their lips together.

Albus could feel his crumpled shirt against his back and he moaned when Gellert grabbed his thigh, positioning himself between his legs. They rubbed against each other, pressing, pushing. Gellert’s hand was grasping his flesh so tight that Albus knew there were going to be bruises the day after. Gellert moved his left leg, kneeling and shifting his weight on it, lifting the pressure on their groins. Albus mumbled something against his lips: a lament, maybe, he wasn’t sure he agreed with stopping what they were doing.

They broke the kiss, simply looking at each other, breathing shallowly. Something caught Albus’ gaze. Gellert had a necklace he never took off: it represented the Deathly Hollows. He wore it with pride, not bothering to hide it – he was the one who had engraved the walls of Durmstrang with the symbol, after all. It usually occupied the place of a pocket watch, at his side, but that morning he had simply slipped it around his neck. It was dangling in front of Albus’ eyes in that moment, catching the light that came from the small windows. It must have stopped raining. Albus didn’t care. He caught the pendant between his teeth, tugging slightly. He focussed on looking Gellert straight in the eyes while he played with it.

Something snapped in Gellert’s gaze: it was pure lust. He moved his hips, pinning Albus to the ground, and they were pressing against each other once more, feeling each other. Albus moaned, releasing the necklace, a breathless laugh on his lips. With a swift movement, he inverted their positions. Gellert’s back impacted on the ground with a low thud. His hair spread around his head like a crown, the Deathly Hollows twinkling near his right nipple. Albus was leaning on his hands, placed beside Gellert’s head, his right knee between his lover’s legs. He tried to control his breath but Gellert raised a brow, impatient, and he started moving his hips suggestively.

Albus trembled. He lowered his head, sucking on Gellert’s nipple, he could feel the cold silver of the Hallows against his upper lip, he groaned when Gellert’s hand started massaging his scalp, mumbling something – a plea, or a sound of gratitude. A second after, his left hand slid between their bodies, where Albus wanted it most. They both moaned and Albus pressed his forehead against Gellert’s chest; their senses were amplified, everything was hot and vivid and hypnotising. Albus could _feel_ their magic, the _power_ blazing around them. It was like an explosion, but constant, like thousands and thousands of blasts, continuously overlapping one another. His fingers joined Gellert’s soon enough.

They were pressing against each other, seeking their pleasure, kissing their skin wherever they could get to. They were damp for the rain and sweaty and they panted and swore and Albus was quite happy that he couldn’t yet master wandless magic because he was pretty sure that if he could he would have destroyed something without meaning to.

“Do that again.” Said Gellert.

“Wha–?” his question was cut by a particularly strong tug of Gellert’s hand on him “Merlin, Gellert.”

“The Hallows.” He said, a feverish light in his eyes.

Albus smirked, complying. He nuzzled the necklace, kissing Gellert’s skin around it, under it, moving his tongue between the gaps – the stone, the wand, the cloak –, feeling the metallic flavour of it, mixed with the strong taste of sweat and skin and arousal. Gellert was looking at him, his chin pressed against his sternum, wide-eyed, as he didn’t want to miss a thing. He seemed completely mesmerised. His grasp slackened and Albus pushed his hips with more force, inside Gellert’s hand, against his shaft. _Don’t get distracted._ He wanted to beg. _Almost there_.

They shifted, and the pendant slipped slightly on the left. Albus followed it instinctively, wrapping his lips around it, kissing against it where his lover’s heart was. And that was it for Gellert. He closed his eyes and bended his head and he came all over their fingers and on their groins. Albus struggled to breath, it felt like there wasn’t enough air. He pushed against Gellert’s hip, against his thigh, inside the circle of his fingers. It took just a few more moments before he collapsed on his body, his strength deceiving him, white light behind his eyelids.

They stayed like that for long seconds. Albus could feel the warmth of the sunbeams against his back. He forced himself to lift his weight on his forearms, looking at Gellert. His eyes were closed, and his chest was moving up and down, as if he was trying to regulate his breathing.

“Gellert,” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was whispering.

“Albus,” he said back, lifting his hand and clumsily caressing his check, without opening his eyes. Albus chuckled, leaning in his touch.

Finally, he blinked, a mischievous smile on his lips: “Get up, Dumbledore, you are crushing me.”

Albus lifted himself, paying attention in sitting on one of the discarded pieces of clothing. He noticed with relief that Gellert was half lying on his own shirt. He didn’t really notice when they were rolling around before. He was still trembling. He could still feel bursts of magic shaking him all over.

Gellert looked spent, he turned on one side, so to look at Albus better. After a minute of contemplation, he spoke, articulating every syllable, as it was necessary for him to concentrate to be clear, in that moment: “We are marvellous together.”

Albus stretched an arm towards him, tracing the outline of his hand with a finger, he lingered on every bone, every fingertip, even following the lines of his palm.

“Indeed, we are.” He agreed.

After that, his eyes moved towards one of the windows: lazy rays of sunshine were caressing them. It was late.

“It stopped raining.” He said slowly, painfully.

When he turned again towards Gellert, he found him seated, he was leaning for his wand, fallen near the logs. Albus looked at him while he proceeded to cast some cleaning spells on themselves and on their clothes. Gellert managed to look regal even mumbling basic house-managing spells. His hold on the wand was that of a conductor with his baton. He looked noble, elegant, an artist. Albus smiled, getting up, and, when he did, Gellert waved his wand absent-mindedly and Albus’ shirt glided over him, making him chuckle. They dressed without talking.

When they passed though the threshold, Gellert glimpsed inside the barn with a thoughtful expression: “We should come back here.” He said, as it was a perfectly logical thing, as he was talking about a restaurant or a bookshop.

Albus suppressed a smile, his eyes glimmering: “I didn’t know you were an admirer of bucolic landscapes.”

Gellert stretched, lifting his arms above his head, and winked: “Be happy that we still have a lot to learn about each other, then, my friend.”

And they walked towards Godric’s Hollow.


End file.
